Slowly, Real Slowly
by run-rusty
Summary: This is just a post-Meridian melodramatic Sam/Jack shipper dribble. It goes like this: if she waits, then everything will unwind.


Title: Slowly, Real Slowly   
  
Summary: If she waits, then everything will unwind.   
Story note: This is just a betaless heap of needless 'ship. You've been warned. Suggestions for revisions will lead to groveling and many thanks. Beta volunteers will be canonized.  
  
  
*  
  
  
I'm watching him, spine curved, bowed head, eyes closed.   
  
He's rocking slightly, though I don't think he knows it.   
  
Daniel's gone. Danny's gone.   
  
And I can see, this new loss, it doesn't fit so well with all the other losses.   
He's having trouble, can't look up and say "c'mon, campers! we've played  
this game before". I can see, the pieces, that this time they're pulling him  
apart, small tears now, big cracks later.   
  
I nod to Teal'c - go home. Teal'c is devastated, floored, lost, but I know in my  
heart, that his clear efficient emotions can get him through tonight. He  
must know too, because he leaves slowly, quietly past the Colonel.   
  
There's a heavy, infinitely slow moment.   
  
Then his head snaps up, eyes very very still, straight at me.   
  
"You alright, Carter?" The words are sharp.   
  
I've seen this Colonel before - still, dark, all hard edges. He is his team and  
they *will* be fine.   
  
If I wait, then everything will unwind.   
  
If I don't wait, I will lie.   
  
I take, take the coward's way out and nod.   
  
"Okay," he says but he's caught the lie.   
  
Slowly, bit by bit, the focus is coming back, grief still on his face, in his skin,  
but his back straightens, his hands uncurl.   
  
So we sit there, on the plastic chairs outside the infirmary. With the ache to  
cry spreading across my cheeks and chest while I sit opposite the fragile,  
fragile Colonel and he stacks the pieces back together.   
  
"Its okay," he lies back softly, but I'm not looking at him so I don't have to  
answer. I don't. I can't.   
  
If he gives me another minute, I will pretend with him.   
  
('How are you doing, Carter?' 'Just peachy, sir, never been better.')   
  
I just need that minute.   
  
I have that minute. I have half an hour while we study our boots in silence.   
Every time I think I can look up--   
  
I can't cry here. Not now.   
  
An orderly finally passes, says "Sir! Ma'am!" and we look up startled with  
twin wan smiles.   
  
But no tears.   
  
I want to say, 'Jack? Lets go, sir', but instead I stand, not looking down at  
him.   
  
"Sir."   
  
He looks up, purses his lips, nods, meaning 'off you head, Carter. Have a  
safe trip home. Try not put a scrape down the side of Staff Sergeant  
Baldwin's car like you almost did last time you were in that tight corner  
spot. Why don't you have a nice warm shower? Try not to cry yourself to  
sleep, we need you for the debrief bright and early at 0700 tomorrow. Try  
not to think about the fact I'll either be sitting in my car all night crying or  
drinking myself stupid only to arrive hurt and angry tomorrow, Carter.   
Bye now.'   
  
I.   
  
Can't.   
  
I can't tonight.   
  
I look no lower than his forehead and give him the best smile I can manage  
as I turn away. But it must look pretty scary, because I can see his hand  
reach out for me as I turn.   
  
Its not hard to dodge and be in the door way before he knows it. There's a  
small slap as his hand falls back on his thigh and I know I'm being cruel, but  
I only have so much strength, see?   
  
Right now I'm teetering on the edge, standing in that doorway and feeling  
so very weary.   
  
I know what will happen if I turn back. I know I will see him sitting there,  
and I know I will reach out.   
  
Touch.   
  
And that will be that moment. That single second when suddenly nothing  
matters, and nothing is the same and nothing ever will be.   
  
(If Daniel was here, he'd laugh. "I died, and they did *what?!*")   
  
So I know what will happen, when I turn round and walk back. Reach out and  
place a hand against his shoulder.   
  
That second.   
  
I half think maybe everything will stop, but then its just the second after  
and the second after and then he is touching my hand, thumb curling into  
my palm as he holds on and I drop into the chair next to him as the ache  
starts to overwhelm.   
  
"Hey," he says and gives my hand a slight shake.   
  
I look up, knowing my chin is shaking, tears are just a kind word, a warm  
smile, a warm hand away from the surface.   
  
But its easier when you're not the only one crying.   
  
It's after that second, but we're still sitting here watching each other cry.   
  
And then slowly, real slowly, we're getting closer like maybe we're made of  
glass and we aren't sure if glass was made for this.   
  
But it is and we do and this is ok.   
  
Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter are sitting on plastic chairs outside the  
infirmary clutching each other the way you grasp at warm bedclothes on a  
cold winter night.   
  
This is ok because things are different now.   
  
If I sniff and rest my lips against his collar, against his neck, that's because  
his shaking hand is stroking my hair and if he presses a quick kiss next to  
my eye, its only because my arm is wrapped too tightly across his  
back.   
  
I think; maybe there'll never be enough tears, and I don't want to stop  
crying if it means that it doesn't hurt anyone. If crying doesn't feel like  
bleeding, how do I know I still care? I don't want there to be a day, at the  
finish, when I realize it hasn't hurt, I haven't remembered and it hasn't  
burnt.   
  
I hear Janet's heels on their way past, but she manages to ignore the two  
wet faced people shaking together on the chairs. The heels stop in the  
doorway, and I look up in time to catch a watery smile before she walks  
away. I know she thinks, she's thinking something about how it took  
something horrible like this. Or how Daniel would roll his eyes into next  
week.   
  
The Colonel pulls back then and he looks a little older and a little softer with  
tear tracks on his cheeks.   
  
"You wanna get going?" he says softly.   
  
I don't have to say 'Jack, let's go, sir' because things are different now.   
  
I press my lips gently against his mouth and pull back.   
  
"Let's head home."   
  
Its our second now.  
  
  
*  
  
fin! 


End file.
